


Rabbit and Trout and Candlelit Doubt

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Food, Humor, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock tries his best to give Jim a delicious meal for Valentine’s Day; Jim isn’t convinced by his efforts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rabbit and Trout and Candlelit Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [ksvalentine](http://ksvalentine.livejournal.com) 2012 challenge and beederiffic’s prompt - Spock decides to woo Jim on Valentines by making him a traditional Human romantic meal and surprises him with it, all laid out on a candlelit table, on the night itself. Spock's research methodology was flawed and the meal ends up being horrible, a total disaster and almost inedible, but Jim's so besotted with Spock he eats it all anyway and pretends that it's yummy.

Leonard McCoy was taking advantage of rare quiet time in Sickbay to update some of the records in the Enterprise’s computer banks. His hazel eyes were hooded, almost sleepy with the effort of focussing after a long day spent almost entirely upon his feet. Despite the tiredness that settled down upon his shoulders like the heaviest of cloaks, he still heard feet approaching him, despite the fact that said feet were treading quietly, carefully, each footstep a measured counterpoint to one another. Leonard groaned quietly to himself; only one person walked so logically and that was Spock.

“What is it, Spock? I’m busy, dammit,” Leonard said, without even looking up from his PADD. 

“I fail to see how you could even begin to know that it was me approaching, Doctor,” came Spock’s measured tones. 

In anyone else, that tone would have been surprised, yet in Spock, the same tone was flat, emotionless, his usual soft and almost rapid monotone. Leonard leant back in his seat, feeling the back of it creak beneath his weight as he stared at the Vulcan towering over where he sat. Leonard refused to give into the Vulcan, remaining steadfastly in his seat without offering the other man a seat of his own. Spock noticed the very brief slight, one eyebrow raising as he stared coolly at the doctor. Brown eyes met hazel in a locked stare, yet neither backed down.

“Have you come here to engage me in a staring contest, or do you have some higher purpose?” Leonard finally asked, still without looking away.

“I do not understand the ramifications of the staring contest you speak of, Doctor. It has no relevance to my visit here,” Spock assured him. 

“Yeah? That so? Care to enlighten me as to why you decided to grace me with your fair elvish presence?” Leonard asked.

“As I have long since informed you, Doctor McCoy, I am not an elf; I am a Vulcan. Please observe the difference in future,” Spock replied, without even flinching or changing the tone of his voice or expression.

“You’re a still a damned hobgoblin to me, no matter how much you prettify yourself up,” Leonard replied, with a snort and a wave of his hand at the Vulcan. “Now, you wanna enlighten me, or are you gonna gloat like Satan?”

“Satan. Fascinating. Your predilection to fantastical beings is duly noted,” Spock said. “Actually, I wish to engage you in your advice.”

“Advice? Now, I really do need a drink,” Leonard replied, eyebrows raising as he leant further back in his seat, long fingers lacing over his soft abdomen. “What can I possibly help you with? You do realize you’re talking to the most illogical being on the ship in your oft repeated opinion.”

“That may be so, but I still think that whatever advice you can give me would be far superior to anybody else’s. You see, it involves Jim. You are his best friend, are you not?” Spock asked, finally perching upon the edge of Leonard’s desk primly.

Leonard didn’t protest the imposition, although he looked a little surprised by the casualness of the gesture. He wondered just how often the Vulcan had performed that very motion in Jim’s office, if he found that much ease in replicating it in his. 

“Sure, I’m probably Jim’s closest friend. Why, what’s he done now?” Leonard asked, stifling an agonised groan as he wondered whether he should ready another hypospray. 

“No hyposprays would be required, Leonard, if that is what you are worrying about,” Spock assured him, seeming to read Leonard’s mind without the need for a mind meld. 

Leonard grunted, surprised that he was that easy to read. Then again, he admitted privately to himself, that the majority of his time with Jim seemed to be taken up with divesting the captain of whatever allergic reaction he was suffering from that afternoon. 

“I believe that it almost time for that holiday you humans like to call Valentine’s Day,” Spock opined. 

“Valentine’s - ? Sure, it’s almost February 14th. Why?” Leonard asked, openly scoffing at the idea of cupids and girly cards swapped over candlelight dinners in the darkness. 

“I wish to do something special for Jim,” Spock said, quietly. “I have never done this before, and I am uncertain of the proper procedure and protocol. Maybe you could help.” 

“I dunno what gave you the idea I’d be the goddamned expert, Spock,” Leonard replied, with a gusty sigh. “Dammit, I’m a doctor, not a relationships expert.” 

“Yes, you are a doctor. That places you in good stead for what I am asking, I believe,” Spock corrected. “You know Jim better than anyone, as I said. I wish to know how to please him.”

“Please him?” Leonard asked, eyebrows raising over his eyes. “If I know anything about Jim, the best thing you can do for him is to feed him. I swear that guy’s like a walking garbage can for food.”

“Fascinating, I am sure,” Spock replied, not getting the reference. 

Somehow, Leonard wasn’t surprised. 

“What do you suggest I should cook? I am unfamiliar with Earthly dishes and I do not think that a Vulcan dish would be to Jim’s liking, somehow,” Spock said.

“No shit,” Leonard replied. “No offence, but I’ve seen the crap you guys call food. Well, I’m from Georgia. All I can tell you is what I like to eat.”

“Which is?” Spock said, when Leonard didn’t immediately elaborate. 

“Seared Trout in creamy mushroom sauce is a particular favourite. Grilled Carolina Rabbit is another,” Leonard said, with a slight smile at the mention of food. “Peach Cobbler is to die for. And Grits. You can’t feed a growing man without giving him his grits. And cornbread, too. Peas. You must give him peas, as well. Sugarsnap peas are the best.” 

Spock nodded slowly, mathematical brain storing away each and every suggestion that Leonard threw his way. The doctor’s stomach growled loudly into the silence as he thought of food, reminding him, and Spock, that he had, as yet to eat that day. 

“I suggest you cater to your own stomach, while I process your very astute suggestions,” Spock said, with a dip of his head towards the doctor. “Thank you. You have proved to be most helpful.”

“Well, don’t sound so surprised, you pointy eared bastard. I might be an old country doctor, Spock, but I do know my way around a kitchen and a plate,” Leonard snorted, raising one eyebrow as he climbed to his feet with a hungry pat to his stomach. 

“So I am now led to believe,” Spock agreed. “Thank you again, Doctor.” 

“Yeah, no problem, I guess,” Leonard grumbled, even as Spock turned to leave.

Leonard was still shaking his head over weird Vulcan practices as he left the sickbay, heading for the recc room and the nearest replicator. His mind had long since been set upon the idea of ordering himself a meal of rabbit stew, cornbread and sugarsnap peas, followed by Peach cobbler. 

~~~

Over the course of the next few days, Spock was quite often absent from the Enterprise, when he was not on duty. Jim had noticed the Vulcan’s absence, blatantly obvious in the stillness of the recc room that had nothing to do with logical, constrained movement and all to do with a loss of a warm body beside him. When Jim tried to ask for Spock’s whereabouts, no one seemed to know; his questions were met with confused expressions by all. Scotty, for one, hadn’t seemed to notice Spock’s frequent absences, attention all too consumed by warp drives and matter/anti-matter engines. Jim’s concern was met by blank stares from the engineer, confused stares from everyone else. Everyone, that was, apart from Leonard, who merely looked vaguely amused by the situation.

“What aren’t you telling me, Bones?” Jim asked, stepping close to the doctor and staring hard at him.

While the doctor made no attempt to move away, his gaze skittered to the left, hazel depths suddenly unable to meet Jim’s friendly blue gaze completely. 

“I think you’ll find out soon enough, kid,” was all Leonard replied.

“Way to be evasive, Bones,” Jim said, blinking in confusion at the now smiling doctor. 

“Dammit, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a tell-tale. If your secrets aren’t safe with a doctor, then there’s no hope for the universe,” Leonard said, gruffly, despite the smile.

“So you are up to something, then,” Jim stated, more than asked.

“Not me, Jim, not me,” Leonard replied. “You’ll see when the time is right.” 

Jim sighed, throwing his hands up into the air with exasperation. Jim had never been any good with evasive answers, nor suspense of any kind and it showed in every movement he made, every question he asked. When Spock did show his face upon the Bridge, it was met with a veritable barrage of questions from Jim, all of which were pointedly ignored in the politest possible way. Leonard’s amusement grew exponentially, while the rest of the crew’s confusion grew in likewise amounts.

~~~~

Valentine’s Day dawned and Jim had made no progress whatsoever in interrogating a tight lipped Vulcan who thought it illogical to spill his secrets ahead of time. Jim did, however, catch Spock’s scrutinizing look every so often, as though the Vulcan was judging him, gauging reactions that Jim hadn’t yet given. It all seemed incredibly intriguing to the ever curious Jim Kirk, barely able to contain himself until the Vulcan’s secrets became apparent. Spock, meanwhile, would not be bribed by hasty kisses given nor the threat of withholding sex for a while. Such threats merely invoked a raised eyebrow and a turned shoulder from Spock. Jim got the sense that in his own way, Spock was smiling, amused by Jim’s puppy-eyes and pleading bare-faced cheek.

That night, Jim finally discovered the reasoning behind the secrecy, as soon as he entered his quarters after Alpha Shift had ended for the day. Candlelight flickered upon every surface, warm light suffusing everything from the myriad candles that were placed strategically around the room. It had been obvious that Spock was the one to place the candles there; each one was in the most logical place to optimise light and intimacy. Jim sniffed the air, appreciatively, smelling the scents of meat, fish and sweet peaches assailing his senses. He blinked suddenly, thinking that the aromas he caught were odd, strangely warring with each other as though they shouldn’t be sharing the same plate. He’d certainly never eaten anything where fish and meat shared the same table. He knew that Spock himself wouldn’t eat either the fish nor the odd gamine meat. All Vulcans were vegetarian, so the meat must be for Jim himself. 

“Spock,” Jim announced to the room at large, waiting for the Vulcan to answer. 

Spock emerged from the captain’s bathroom, fastidiously cleaning his fingers upon a stray towel, blank, guarded expression in place.

“Jim. I am glad you are here,” Spock said, formally, with a nod of his head towards the captain. “May I suggest you sit so we can enjoy our meal?” 

“Meal? You cooked?” Jim asked, barely able to hide his surprise at that.

“Yes. I wished to do something special to mark the romantic holiday,” Spock said.

“Valentine’s? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did something, but don’t you think celebrating Valentine’s Day is a human thing to do?” Jim asked, as he settled down at the table Spock had set up by the farthest wall in Jim’s quarters, expectantly.

“Last time I checked, I believe that you were still human, Jim,” Spock said, raising one eyebrow at the other man. “Forgive me if I have been misinformed about that fact.”

“Sure, I’m human. Hell, you’re half human. I just didn’t expect someone like you to even bother,” Jim said. “No offence or anything.” 

“None taken, I am sure,” Spock replied, in the tone of voice that implied that he didn’t know how to take offence if he tried. “I wished to honour you, being fully human, and please you, is all that I wish to say on the matter.” 

“Well, thanks,” Jim said, with a shrug, not knowing what else to say to the Vulcan’s logic. 

Spock nodded, before placing a plate filled with food and Jim blinked at the resultant mess on display. The only thing he recognised upon the whole plate was something that was obviously supposed to be a pie, albeit a rather formless and out of shape pie. Beside the pie monstrosity was dolloped a pile of something yellow and mushy that Jim had no name for, while beside that was nestled a slice of equally yellow, grainy bread, or what Jim hoped was bread. Between the bread shaped object and the suspicious pie, Jim assumed rested a pile of burnt peas, if the blackened green mush was anything to go by. 

“What - um - what is this, please?” Jim asked, aiming for politeness instead of cheek or outright disgust.

“It’s a trout and rabbit pie,” Spock replied, which went some way as to explaining the smell of meat and fish that Jim had smelt upon entering his quarters.

Jim gaped at the Vulcan, mind unable to process what he’d just said. The combination seemed so outlandish, that Jim wondered if he’d even heard correctly. 

“Come again?” he asked, eyes wide and shining a bright blue in the light.

“Trout and rabbit pie, Jim,” Spock repeated, patiently. “I believe Southern gentlemen like to eat rabbit and trout, so I made a pie of both.” 

“Southern gentlemen, huh? Bones is the only Southern gentleman aboard the whole ship,” Jim said, with a snuffle of laughter. 

He didn’t say it aloud, but he suspected that not even Leonard would eat a rabbit and trout pie. Jim had definitely seen the doctor eating grilled trout and rabbit stew on separate occasions however. 

“I’m guessing this is cornbread, then?” Jim asked, as he picked up the slice of bread judiciously. “Assuming you’ve been talking to Bones about food, that is.” 

“You assumed correctly, Jim,” Spock said, immediately. “I asked him advice on delicious human food, as I thought he would be the best source of information. He is, after all, your closest friend and is, as such, an expert on all things Jim Kirk.” 

“We’ll see,” Jim said, darkly, eyeing the pie suspiciously. 

“Jim?” Spock asked, questioningly. 

“I said, we’ll eat,” Jim amended, with a cheeky grin at the Vulcan.

Spock hummed, not entirely convinced by Jim’s amendment, before he dipped his spoon into his vegetable stew dilligently. He ate quietly, each movement well processed and thought out, providing no waste or excess of movements. Jim however, was less precise with his eating, not helped by the fact that the food was utterly disgusting. Jim, however, realized that the meal meant much more to Spock than it did to him, never one to hold much stock in an obviously overly commercialised holiday, whereupon companies fleeced people of their hard-earned credits just to sell cards and pieces of fluff. 

The pie, when he broke into it revealed undercooked rabbit and slightly overcooked fish, pastry the only thing that was even vaguely edible about the whole concoction. Jim put on a game smile and forced down the pie, making the occasional delighted noises for good effect. The corn bread, when Jim sampled that, was too dry, crumbs sticking in his throat which he washed down with Andarian brandy fresh from the decanter. The other mushy object on his plate, which Spock described as grits, was also underdone, too wet and tasting too much of corn for Jim’s liking - and that was coming from a man born and bred in Iowa, famous for its corn. 

Still, Jim forced it down, smile growing ever more strained with each new bite that he took, deciding to keep up appearances for Spock’s behalf. That the Vulcan had made his best efforts wasn’t lost on Jim, neither could he be blamed for cooking foodstuffs unfamiliar to him. It was enough that Earthly cuisine was completely alien to Spock in the first place, let alone expecting a vegetarian who’d never cooked meat before to be suddenly proficient in preparing and cooking both trout and rabbit in the same dish.

Once his plate was mostly cleared of the offensive food, Jim reached for another brandy, his seventh of the evening. His head was feeling more than a little on the tipsy side, yet he rationalised that feeling with the notion that he deserved it after the meal he’d just been tortured with. 

“You have been drinking quite heavily this evening, Jim. Is everything quite alright?” Spock enquired, as calm as ever. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m all good, thanks, Spock. Just enjoying the evening a little too much, I think,” Jim rushed out. 

Spock nodded at that, obviously taking Jim’s epithet as a compliment. He placed a bowl of peach cobbler in front of the captain proudly, as he proclaimed that he’d also made the dessert himself.

“Oh, good gods alive,” Jim mumbled, from behind his hand.

“Excuse me?” Spock asked, blinking owlishly at Jim.

“I said - Oh good gods alive, Spock. This looks yummy,” Jim forced out with another smile for Spock’s benefit.

“Is it normal for humans to call upon God before eating dessert, Jim?” Spock questioned, in what would have been surprise in anyone else. 

“It depends how good the dessert is,” Jim hazarded, faintly. 

“I see. That’s fascinating, Jim,” Spock replied, tone implying that he didn’t understand at all.

Jim’s spoon flashed in the light as it arced towards the grey sponge nestled in his bowl, the orange of the peaches the only bright point on the whole dessert. As expected, the cobbler was as disgusting as the main course, sponge too over-cooked and dry, much like the cornbread had been. Even the peaches were somehow devoid of taste and life, as though Spock had removed the best bits by sheer will of logic alone.

“How is your cobbler, Jim?” Spock finally ventured, frowning down at his own peach and sponge filled bowl with some vague distaste. “Mine appears too over-cooked and dry.”

“No, no, it’s supposed to be like that, Spock. Just eat it,” Jim said, bravely. 

Spock raised an eyebrow and did as Jim had requested. They remained silent until the last of the dessert had been consumed, by which time Jim felt a little unwell. He remained silent about the matter, however, bravely holding his fingers against Spock’s in a grateful kiss. Spock looked pleased by the effort Jim had made to honour the Vulcan way of doing things, pleasure only marred slightly by Jim’s sudden announcement that he had to visit Sickbay post-haste.

“Sickbay, Jim? Whatever for?” Spock asked, immediately standing when Jim did.

“I’m sorry, I should have said. I’m allergic to peaches,” Jim rushed, still unwilling to admit that the meal had been awful. 

“Allergic to peaches? We’ve got to get you Doctor McCoy, immediately,” Spock said, immediately escorting Jim from the room.

“Please,” Jim mumbled,. trying to hold onto his stomachful of trout, rabbit and peach. 

He didn’t speak again, until well after Leonard had all but chased Spock out of the Sickbay, hurling threats at the Vulcan’s head as he did so. When Leonard returned to Jim’s side, it was to find the captain in a sorry state, sweating and looking distinctly pale and clammy. 

“What the devil did Spock do to you, tonight? He was only supposed to cook you a goddamned meal,” Leonard said, as he stared ferociously down at the prone form of the captain. 

“Oh, he did that alright, Bones,” Jim moaned, in mounting terror. “He sure did that.” 

“What did you eat, man?” Leonard asked.

“Trout and rabbit pie,” Jim replied, heaving dryly into thin air.

“Trout and rabbit - ? Good god, man. What is wrong with that Vulcan? He’s finally out of his Vulcan mind,” Leonard bawled, looking ready to swing at Spock, despite the fact that the Vulcan had long since left the room.

“Tell me about it,” Jim mumbled. 

“What makes it worse is that you ate that monstrosity of a meal,” Leonard said, blinking down at the prone man on his biobed, frown glimmering above his eyes and turning the hazel depths stormy. 

“I had to, didn’t I? I didn’t wanna cause offence to the chef,” Jim replied. “You know what it’s like.” 

“Not really, but I can see where you’re headed,” Leonard said, slowly. “C’mon, let me look at you. I’ll have you fighting fit in no time. Trout and rabbit pie, indeed.” 

Jim could only lay back and grin up at the grumbling doctor, feeling warm hands travel over him and the odd sting of hyposprays applied to his neck and body. Leonard continued to work diligently, murmuring more to himself than to Jim, leaving the captain alone to think. Despite the discomfort of eating disgusting food and the sick feeling he’d been left with, Jim knew that given half the chance, he would do it all again, for Spock. 

~~ the end ~~


End file.
